Genuvere walks into the Butterfly Garden and is swept up by the fragrance of the flowers. She starts to dance and follow a particular Monarch that flutters past her face. A Dragonfly hovers nearby and escorts Genuvere in an erratic manner and it brings her to a field of poppies. She whispers, but the sound carries far in this peaceful place, saying, "Congratulations Orald on 100! Long since I seen your name, and many it was on the old when I traveled there. Thank you for this peaceful place!" She then visits the banquet table.

Tempest wanders into the garden in a *gasp* flowing dress. Her hair falls in golden rivlets down her back and her feet are bare. <i>"Ah, what a fine, fine place this is. Such beauty I have not seen in a very long time!"</i> With that, she sits herself down on the ground and watches the various fencing activities with amusement.

Remembering the Butterfly Garden of old, Snowdog walks in and loosk around. "Thank You Orald! And Congratulations on your 100 posts!" The beauty of the place and the festivities surround Snowdog and he floats around to the refreshments. He sees Tempest looking stunning as he always knew she was, and Genuvere who was dipping into the cheese and crackers. <img src="i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0>

The dreams were vivid and the visions intense. Genuvere was in fact in a tree looking out over the garden, but she was fast asleep. Whe merriment filled the air with the love of all things,, and the peace overwhelmed her.

The Warrior/Bard Erinhue forsakes the ever winding road to seek the refreshment of the peaceful gardens. Soft breezes, warmed by gentle sunlight, carry the scent of fragrent grasses and the breath of budding blossoms. A expanse of clearest blue canopies the flowering pastures and rolling hillsides<BR><BR>The gnarled protruding root of a shady maple tree presents a handy perch beside the gurgling waters of a flowing crystal brook. Tasting deeply of the slightly apple flavored waters, the bard wets his throat strikes the strings of his harp and begins to sing a bittersweet ode to the blessing of beauty that surrounds him.

Radagast the Brown looked out across the beauty of Olrald's Garden: a place of peace and lingering summers of old, where sunlight still falls even in a chill and grey world. His back was to a great oak tree, and a grey wolf lay by his side, half-asleep. <BR><BR>Birds called softly from the trees, not wishing to disturb the silence, and the wind rustled the changing leaves of autumn. The first hint of winter lay in the shadows, but summer stood fast in the pools of sunlight.<BR>

As if carried by Faerie's wings Genuvere danced as on air. The Lady Galadriel filled the senses with her beauty and the sky was blue as the Iris. The red of the outer Maples fluttered and made a tune in the gentle wind, and in Awe Genuvere danced before the Lady.

The magic in the air produced by the dance of Lady Genuvere permeated the senses and Snowdog lay gently against the trunk of a mighty oak. His head swam in the beauty of things creaded and imagined. His mind took him to a time of youth with his beloved Rian.

Stimulated to passoin by the butterfly kiss, Genuvere stood and put her arms out for her lover. She extended her hand with bracelets of golden flowers, and a dragonfly landed on her fingertips. She floated like air in her swoon and petted the dragonfly's back.

Lady Galadriel awoke as from a trance. She started to dance slowly, by the sound of an inner music, a music both slow and passionate. She turned around thrice, and her attire changed to a robe of gold laced with red butterflies. <BR><BR>Now - she sang softly - now I am autumn herself, <BR>No wolf tonight is howling,<BR>For winter's far<BR>And far the spring<BR>And far the summer weather.<BR><BR>No cold to bite,<BR>No sun to scorch,<BR>No maddness in the weather<BR>Just just gold and red and autumn light<BR>Like honey in the branches<BR><BR>She made a sudden gesture with her hands, and all the garden was filled with a kind golden light that smoothed the contours. The leaves of the trees turned red and gold, like candels lighted by the hand of a fairy. An in fact there were fairies everywhere, some delicate like a child's kiss, some rougher and merryer. And the elves started to fill the garden: Tall, handsome and untouchable as dreams. They started to make fires and to roast chestnuts, and apples, and corn and the sweet smells filled the air. <BR><BR>Every guest found himself holding a glass made of the thinest and most delicate crystal, incrustated with vines and grapes. The glasses filled magically with wine. <BR><BR>Galadriel danced again: No beer tonight, no scotch or cognac! Just wine: clear, pure, white and red wine!<BR><BR>The music filled the air. It seemed to come from every branch, from every vine, and even the glasses seemed to sing by themselves as the guests touched their magical content with their lips.<BR><BR>This, my friends, is the gift of Lady Galadriel for Autumn! Dance! Drink! Rejoice! Be Merry!

A sip of the wine put a glow on everything in the presence of the Lady Galadriel, and the red maples and yellow cottonwoods shined with the autumn sun. Genuvere laid back against a mushroom and her dragonfly friend flew in circles, knowing it was time to depart. The wind held the magic of the season in the air and a butterfly sat upon the leaf and counted her eggs. The radiance of the lady invigorated all who came into her presence.

Genuvere dreamed intense as the butterfly slipped away. The Dragonfly hovered and squared about on his flight. The sun beamed upon the trees as the wind blew the colored leaves in a rainbow fury. Genuvere held her hand out for the butterfiy to land, and it became two. The Yellow and black one tasted impatiently Genuvere's palm, and the other Orange and black one sat and stared. Genuvere whispered to the two, "Go to your first love."

Lady Galadriel stopped dancing and sat down on the yellowish grass, listening to the sound of the wind through the leaves. <BR><BR>Does the wind love the leaves? Do the leaves love the wind? Perhaps they do, all of them. And yet the wind does not stay in the leaves, nor do the leaves travel with him all the way. The wind comes from the sky, and ultimatelly it is the sky that he loves, and the leaves go back to the ground, to melt in it and be loved by it, and bloom again next spring.<BR><BR>Love is a complex emotion, and it is the kind of draught that never ends as long as you drink it. The more you drink, the more you have to spare. Perhaps it is our mortal, fallen nature that is afraid of sharing love other than for one. But if we look inside - there is more than one way to love: the love one feels for one's parents, or for one's children, or for one's friends. All these emotions are called love, and they do not interfere with each other. A deep, melting feeling that grows with their pains and joys, a need to share and not to posses. These are perhaps little bits and pieces from that one big love that comes to us from above, from God. If we could only learn to love like He does...<BR><BR>To come back to a book I told you about a long time before, Truman Capote, The Grass Harp. I was re-reading it yesterday, and I want to remind you of this: five people in a tree, talking about their dreams.<BR><BR>This is, in fact what we are doing here. We form little confreries and share dreams. Dreams of adventure, dreams of gardens, or inns they are all the same. Here, we do not meet each other, we meet dreams. It is not only that I can be who-ever I want to be: I can also make you (or anyone else for that matter) who-ever I want you to be.<BR><BR> It is not Paradise, it can be even dangerous, but taken in proper measures, it can also be the best place we have ever been to.<BR><BR>No more complexes, no more fears of "What are they going to say if I told them I dream of Butterfly Gardens?" Here there is no status, no title, no money. Just the dream. And as long as you can find someone to dream along with you, you are free to follow the path.<BR><BR>On the other hand, I do not think anyone can be jealous, for here we are not in-love, but in-friendship. The modern world seems to become harsher and more and more un-social, no matter how much they struggle to make us all friends. One can only be friends with people of the same mind. Oh, yes, we can have many "friends": we gather once a week and talk about kids, prices, dresses, bussiness, movies and what-not. But this does not help us, because we know that many things remain un-said. So we come here and say them all, then go back to the ones we love and tell them all about it, with a lighter and more open heart, because we know we are not so alone.

On the other hand, Orald, I have for a long while now wondered at the quality of your writing. You are inexhaustible and quite inspired sometimes, and also fun and deep. Did you ever try to WRITE something seriously? Perhaps you should. Perhaps you even did? You do not have to answer to this, if you do not feel like.

Ladies Galadriel and Genuvere, it is with love that I extend my hand in frienship. Humbled in your presence, Orald, is enchanted by this interplay. For the one, Gen, it is somewhat more than flirtatious exhillerations,.. for the other, Lady G. it is more profound. Two elegant Mistresses, two levels of friendship....<BR><BR>Yes, for you Lady G, no query is too much. I have written most of my life. I have a novel, a variety of short stories and poems, as a modest portfolio. <BR><BR>Yet, here, at the Prancing Pony, a wonderful mystery accompanies this form of written exchange,.. a vitality of relationship, an immediacy of intimacies,.. thank you for bearing with my idiosyncratic ramblings... my heart is yours, dear companions, as it is for all my friends. I open to you in trust,.. I welcome you with reverance...<BR><BR>"Speak, friend, and enter"....

"Yes, as friends we enter, as friends we depart. The web binds our lives here, though a little part. It is a land of dreams, of fantasy, of thought, where we can be who we want. A release of sorts from our real life, to relax here with friends, to play, flirt, and have fun."<BR><BR>Genuvere spun around and the leaves of color stuck in her golden-white hair. The wind caressed her clothing and a drop of rain made a tear. The happiness of this place floods abound and Genuvere loves her friends here. She has learned to forget the few enemies that despise her every word.<BR><BR>The role of woman of Rohan, strong, but young and niave. It is the life she envisions, in Middle Earth, another time it was.<BR><BR>Gen curtseys politly to Orald, The Lady, and Terry D, and closes her eyes and listens to the wind in her hair.<BR>

Lady Galadriel laughed, a clear, trill of joy and happiness. It is always a delight to be here! No matter how dull life might seem sometimes, one can always cheer up just by the push of a button. I would never want to loose this, although sometimes it takes a while for me to answer. But I always like to know there is a place like this, where I can roll around in leaves and dream and speak my dreams.<BR><BR>But do not fear, my dear Orald and Genuvere, I never take myself quite as serious as I seem to do. I only have a certain inclination to give speeches. You know, we can wear all kinds of masks, but we always remain the same inside. <BR><BR>Orald my dear, there is only one thing that I regret: that I have never actually read one of your stories, although the bits and pieces that you scatter around here might even qualify. I think that at the bottom of my heart I envy you for your gift. I know that the only job I would be qualified for in the literary field would be that of critic, but I generally hate critics and hair-splitters like myself. Consequently I occupy my time putting the words of other people differently. No, I do not plagiate, I merely translate. I have dreamt of translating Tolkien, but I am much too onest not to admit that I am as yet not that good. <BR><BR>Terry, please, if you ever decide to shapeshift again, do not go for ever, and leave enough cloues. I would hate to loose your conversation. <BR><BR>Unfortunatelly, I have to keep my speech for tonight short, for my internet time is running short - dratted company only gives me a couple houndred hours at a time - and I will have to renew my account soon enough. <BR><BR>Having said all these quite hurriedly, the never-old Lady G. climbed on top of one of the mallorn trees, picked a fruit and a glass of Baileys, lighted a cigarette and started counting leaves.

Orald snored, contented. The cocoon was comfortable and warm. A tallish, lank figure stood before the cocooning Orald. The man knelt, then recalled these past few months,.. and another Butterfly Garden,.. it was now time for Terry D to return to the realm of virtual life. <BR><BR>It is rather poetic... that two Gardens complete the circle....

Lady, my Lady Geeeeee!!! We seem to be sharing the same Time Zone for once... it's quite exciting to realize that you are so ever near,.. a few clicks away,.. click, click, click, and we are together!!!<BR><BR>I don't know that I could ever leave you. Disappearing from one so near to my heart would rend the fabric of Orald, poor, droopy, sleeper that he has now become,.. and shred the essence of TD. I am yours forever, entwined with uncommon commonalities,.. we two!!!

This is indeed fun. We sit together, at the desk, and talk quietly with a glass of orange juice in front of us, and yet I look uotside and see the Elvish moon rising in the frosty sky of late october, just a as proper Elf should do, while you - you probably see the sun climbing down towards the horizon, and the leaves are green, and the weather hot. As nice old Tom Bombadil would.<BR><BR>Want to change? It is also pretty cold out-here too, ever since they took our Rings away from us and we do not have any more control over the weather and the time. But, on the other hand, I have never seen anything as beautiful as the red and golden trees of autumn!

You aren't a writer?? You hem and haw at creativity??? <BR><BR>I have to join in with your laughter.... Do you recall your sublime contrbution in the "Transcendance...", "Quintessence..." and "...Elves..." threads,.. what incredible depth you exposed in those threads. Lady Galadriel, yours is a most poetic spirit, sophisticated are many of your turns of phrases, you have delighted me innumerable times with your literary virtuosity!!! You are INDEED a writer of skill and wit and endless connectivity to what is essentially human and quintessentially spiritual!!!<BR><BR>I adored the memories you shared of your child's sleepytime stories.<BR><BR>Lady G, I hope your family is well. I pray for you often,.. I think of you with tender care.... T.

Dear Terry, I have the skill, but I lack the imagination. I could probably write a very good autobiography, but nobody would be intrested in that. Perhaps I am still to young to really have anything interesting to say. Perhaps I am that kind of one-book person. I could, I suppose write essays, if my education would provide the background and expertise. For now, I write articles for respectable chemistry magazines, but that isn't that much fun. What I really love is fantasy, and for that an inquisitive and organized mind like mine is a minus, not a plus.<BR><BR>Everybody at home is quite fine, although my son gets more and more active every day and seems to get himself in trouble quite often. I pray too: for you, for your family, for a chance to actually shake hands sometime.

Just stepped out for a quick smoke and a trip to the vending machine to get an orange juice. Gotta keep up with my dream Lady! It is wondorous to think that we are both sipping the nectar of orange and conversing simultaneously! Much more than coincidence, I choose to believe....<BR><BR>Sunday's have become a wonderful time for me. At first, two years ago, I did not think I would enjoy working Sundays. But, now it is the quietest of times. I am relatively alone at the university. monitoring the Mainframe, and assisting various students and faculty at a leisurly pace. Far less hectic than my Monday thru Thursday routine!<BR><BR>It is a marvelous day in southern Louisiana. Not exactly cool, a splattering of wispy clouds, and the clear air of autumn!!! <BR><BR>What timing!!! Imagine the probabilities (after all you are a self professed analytical-elf) of us simultaneously posting a message at the exact same moment! The nearness of you is thrilling! I tremble with this brief embrace....<BR><BR>your clicking, friend ( I reckon we should refer to it as clique-ing) Terry D.

Sparky tumbled down a small dale and landed in the forest clearing, staring around him in fascinated bewilderment. Butterflies gracefully evaded his clumsy entrance and all around him elves, their faces bright as the moon, and nymphs, their wings glistening under the starlit sky, turned to look at him. "But lo"cried one "Is that a rope he holdeth in his hand.<BR>"Nay," replied Sparky who had recovered himself and was standing up to face the questioning eyes of mystical entourage, " it is the end of a very long thread which I have followed, over dale and hill, through forest and wood, to give a message to he who is known in these parts as Orald."<BR><BR>"That is I" said Orald although his pen never left the vellum.<BR><BR>"Sir, then take this jewel as a token of congratulations on your 100th post." Sparky handed the jewel to Orald.<BR><BR>"Oh, Elbareth Gilthoniel, can it be a Silmaril?<BR><BR>"Yes," said Sparky. "It is written that there were three and that they were taken by the land, the air and the sea. This was true of the original manuscript, but many copies were made and with each copy three Silmarils also. This one is for you. After all I have quintrillions of the things at home.

Now, I should really go to sleep, for it is closing on midnight, and I have already lost the connection once. I am so sorry that I can not stay more to chat with you. But I am here usually at about this time every night (from my point of view). And I always love to share thoughts with you!<BR><BR>Have a nice day! God bless you!

Welcome Sparky and I am certain Orald thanks you for your profound gift, albeit, one that is plentiful for you,.. it does not diminish the uniqueness to one who has none!<BR><BR>But, could you be a smidgeon quieter,.. Orald is sleeping the deep trance of stasis that is Temporal Dance...